


Plaything

by Lady_Sci_Fi



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 00:17:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5185046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Sci_Fi/pseuds/Lady_Sci_Fi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bifur is captured by the orcs who attacked his town, who take delight in playing with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plaything

**Author's Note:**

> For the Hobbit kinkmeme prompt: "Bifur got the axe from an orc attack on his town. But what if it wasn't so straight-forward?
> 
> The pack of orcs knocks him out and takes him with them when they leave, for entertainment. Once far enough away, they have their fun, beating, torturing, possibly raping him. After a few days, they're done with him, and try to kill him with an axe to the head. They leave him for dead near the town."
> 
> http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/14338.html?thread=26392834#t26392834

Bifur awakened, head throbbing and body aching. His eyes slowly opened, and he groaned as he glanced around. The room, a small hut really, was lit with the lamps on the walls. Through the window he could see forest, and guessed where he was.

A few miles outside the town where he lived was a man who preferred to live solitarily out in the forest, though Bifur had met him in the town market. He wondered what happened to him, though the spot of blood against a wall and on the floor underneath was enough to tell him that the man had not been spared from the orc attack either.

Bifur tried to shoot up to his feet at the thought, but ended up facedown on the floor with a surprised cry. His wrists and ankles were tied together. How did he get here, in this state? Flashes of memory came back to him.

_The town bell ringing out an alarm. Grabbing his boar spear to meet whatever threat was upon them. Joining his cousin Bofur in running through the streets with other armed people. Rounding a corner and bringing down his spear on an orc. Some buildings set on fire…_

_The fight itself was a blur of blood and cries of pain and death from both sides. At some point, they drove the orcs back, and they turned tail and ran for the town gate. Bifur instructed Bofur to check on Bombur’s home, and he gave chase to the gate. He made it there before anyone else, and was rewarded with two orcs dropping down from the wall onto his back. Then something hard came down on his head, and he fell into darkness._

He had been taken prisoner? Why? What use could he have to a small bunch of orcs who had done a seemingly random raid? He certainly wouldn’t have any information that could help them in any potential greater goal. Bifur swallowed, regretting his adrenaline-fueled decision to chase the orcs completely away, instead of going with Bofur. He rolled over onto his back to sit up. Whatever they had in mind for him, he would stay strong.

Bifur only had to wait a few seconds for the door to open. Five orcs entered, sniggering when they saw him glaring at them. He spat in their direction, and stayed quiet.

The leader chuckled, a reedy unpleasant sound. “Oh, he looks like he’ll be fun,” he commented to his friends.

“What do you want with me?” Bifur demanded, straining against the ropes to break free. “I have little of value, and if you think I’m going to do anything to help you after what you attacked my home-“

“None of that, no.” The orc leaned in to taunt him further, and was met with a headbutt when he got too close. He reeled back, and gestured to the others.

Bifur was immediately surrounded and assailed by kicks from every side. All he could do was duck his head between his arms and curl up to avoid the most damage possible. He bit his lip to stop from crying out at the savage blows. One got through his defense and he tasted blood in his mouth as his teeth bit through his bottom lip.

“That’s enough,” the leader said. With another kick from each of the others, they backed off.

Bifur pushed himself up to a sitting position, and spat blood to the floor beside him. He stiffened as the leader pulled a knife and crouched down in front of him, slipping the point under his chin. He kept eye contact with the orc, showing that whatever they had in store for him, he would not be intimidated easily.

Bifur set his jaw as the knife traced up his jawline through his beard, then up his cheek. The blade laid flat against his skin for a few seconds, before suddenly turning onto its side and slicing through, drawing blood. He flinched at the stinging pain, but didn’t give any verbal reaction.

The orc chuckled. “We’ll make you scream. What fun we’ll have.”

That’s what this was about? Why they had captured him alive? To torture him for amusement? So he could be their plaything? Then what would happen when they became bored of him?

Bifur kicked out with his bound legs, catching the leader in the knee. He knew he wouldn’t get anywhere, with his tied limbs and the other four orcs, but he pushed himself up to his feet anyway.

He was taken down two seconds later, the other four orcs piling on top of him. Bifur kept trying to push them off and get up, but he couldn’t even rise halfway off the floor. A series of blows to the back of his head left him dazed enough to stop struggling. With a command from the leader, Bifur was hauled up to his feet, and his bound hands were lifted high above his head and placed on a thick metal hook on the wall. His shoulders strained at the height, which was just low enough for his feet to stay flat on the floor. They were already sore from the beating, and would only get worse if he was left like this for too long.

His shoulders became the least of Bifur’s concern as the lead orc unraveled a whip from his belt. One orc seized the collar of his jacket and yanked hard at it. Another pulled a knife and grabbed another part of his clothing. Bifur realized what they were about to do and kicked out, ignoring the pain in his shoulders as they supported his weight on the hook.

A fist smashed into Bifur’s face twice, making him see stars and stop his struggling. He was still long enough for them to lift him from the hook, turn him around, and hang him back from it. He started kicking again, though it was far less effective from the position of his front being against the wooden wall. He swore at them as they tore and cut his clothing off until he was down to his breeches. His jacket and shirt hung off him in shreds, exposing his back. His pressed his now-bare feet flat against the floor, trying to prepare his body for whatever was to come.

Bifur bit his bloodied lip to avoid making any sound as the whip came down on his back. A short grunt escaped, and made the orcs laugh.

“Come now, dwarf, you can scream and cry out all you wish. There is no one around to hear. If it’s your pride holding you back, there’s no one here you would disappoint.”

Bifur snorted through the lingering sting.

“Though maybe we should’ve grabbed someone else, maybe someone from your family to make this more fun,” the leader taunted.

Bifur growled and cursed as he tried to stand up on his toes high enough to unhook his wrists. The thought of Bofur or Bombur here with him? To have them watch as these orcs played with him, or having to watch one of them be hurt like this?

The whip snapped across his flesh again, jerking him from his thoughts. He didn’t clench his teeth in time to stop a short cry of pain as it sliced into his skin. He pressed his forehead against the wall and closed his eyes as his body stiffened in anticipation.

The whip came down several times in a quick pace, not giving Bifur any time to recover between them. Blood dripped from his mouth and into his beard as he kept himself from crying out. Warm blood started to trickle down his back.

Then he couldn’t keep in the pain anymore as the leader kept bringing the whip down. Each strike built upon the last, cumulating until it felt as though his back were on fire. Then it started cutting across the already open stripes of skin, and Bifur’s knees buckled, and his own scream echoed in his ears.

The whip cut across the back of his thighs, and his legs gave out. His sore shoulders protested as he fought to get his feet back under him. He had just achieved that when his legs were targeted again, and his weight wrenched his shoulders down again. He wasn’t allowed the chance to physically compose himself again as the whip kept coming down.

Bifur didn’t know how long this went on until the whip finally stopped, leaving him completely limp and unresponsive from the hook. He couldn’t even open his eyes. Pained moans accompanied his exhales, as he breathed heavily. His legs would not respond to his efforts to stand on his own.

Then a strong hand seized a handful of his hair, yanked his head back, and forced his face into the unforgiving wooden wall. He wasn’t immediately knocked unconscious, hearing the unpleasant laughs of the orcs as he faded into darkness.

********

When Bifur came to, he found he had been turned around on the hook, and now faced out to the room. His shoulders and neck ached from the strain of the position, and his back flared in agony. An involuntary moan escaped through his parted lips, and he squeezed his eyes shut at the pain.

He kicked out as a large hand grabbed his chin and forced his mouth open. He choked on the sour liquid that was poured in, and tried to spit it out. None of it hit the orc’s face, and most of it ended up in Bifur’s beard.

“Don’t like that, huh?” the orc taunted. “Woke you up, though.”

Bifur glared at the orc, and gathered enough saliva to spit on the orc’s cheek, it streaked with the brown liquid.

The response was immediate, with the orc shoving his dirty fingers into Bifur’s mouth and forcing his bottom jaw down. “Maybe we’ll cut out your tongue before we’re done with you.”

Bifur tried to close his mouth, his jaw quickly starting to ache. His kicks were ineffective, and he feared the bone would be dislocated or broken.

Then the leader called out for the orc to stop. “We wouldn’t want to damage his mouth, now would we? His screams wouldn’t be as good.”

The orc snorted and removed his fingers. Bifur slowly closed his mouth to relax the muscles. What else did they have in store for him? How long were they going to keep him here?

The leader smirked and strode up to Bifur, tearing off a piece of meat from his hand with his teeth. “Going to scream for us more, I hope.”

Bifur waited until the orc got close enough, and forced his legs up into the air and wrapped them around the orc’s waist, yanking him forward. He gritted his teeth through the pain the motion caused in his shoulders.

His legs loosened and he let out a long cry of pain as a small knife plunged into his shoulder. His eyes flew wide as the orc grabbed the handle and twisted the blade in his flesh. The orc stepped free of Bifur’s legs and let them drop. Bifur bit into his broken lip, though sound still escaped, as his shoulders once again had to support his weight, the pain made worse by the knife left in the muscle. Foreign, sharp, biting. He tried to stand on his tiptoes to alleviate the pain, but he couldn’t manage it for more than a couple seconds.

Bifur’s bound hands above his head clasped together tightly to try to get some control over the agony of his shoulders and back. Warm blood trickled down the side of his chest from the new wound. How much more blood would they spill from him before they were done with him?

Bifur let out a grunt as the knife was finally taken from his flesh. He tensed as the orc leader traced it down the blood trail, and stopped between two ribs, pressing the point in just enough to puncture the skin.

“I could carve you up real nice,” the orc said in an amused tone. “But that’s not much fun.” He pushed the knife in a little more. “Don’t you think?”

Bifur didn’t say anything. He was not going to taunt them further. He didn’t want to die here. Whatever they did to him, he was determined to live through it. He had to, for his cousins’ sakes, as well as his own. Oh how he regretted chasing after these orcs…

Bifur didn’t hear the command, but three of the other orcs approached and lifted him down off the hook. He winced as his shoulders were finally able to be in their proper position, though the movement hurt his whip-torn back. He wasn’t allowed to just stand there for long, and was half-dragged over to a table. He was bent over, cheek and chest held down against the smooth wood by two orcs who had his arms out in front of him, fingertips touching the opposite edge. with their other hands on his shoulders.

“Been awhile since we’ve been able to do this,” the leader said behind Bifur.

The question of what they hadn’t been able to do was quickly answered when his breeches were yanked down, the fabric stuck to the open welts on the backs of his thighs causing a sting as it was ripped away.

“No! Don’t you dare!” Bifur cried out, trying to fight out of the grasps of the two holding him down. He pulled and pushed at them, ignoring the flaring pain. He was not going to let this happen. He refused to be taken like this by orc filth.

“Feisty one… I like it,” the leader commented. “Maybe you could try to keep that up for us all?”

Bifur shouted wordlessly and tried to kick backwards. All of them? Mahal, no, please. Let them beat him or whip him more, just not this. “No! Get off! No!” he yelled as he kept struggling.

The leader’s hands gripped his waist firmly, the long nails digging into his skin. There was no easing in, only the tearing pain as a hot and thick cock forced inside. His entire body stiffened at the invasive pain. It was the only thing that occupied his mind…

He barely noticed when the last one had had his fun, and they let him fall limply to the floor. All he could register was the pain, and the humiliation.

********

Bifur sputtered and coughed as that dark and foul liquid was dumped down his throat to wake him. He curled up as tightly as his battered body would allow, finding that they had simply left him on the floor instead of hanging him on the hook.

An unexpected and savage kick to his torn back made him scream, a hoarse and broken sound, as his body arched backwards and eyes flew wide.

Everything after that was a haze of blood and agony.

The final time they forced him awake, he could barely speak. The only sounds he could make were pitiful moans and whimpers of pain.

Two orcs set him on a chair, and had to grab his hair to hold him up, before he could pitch forward off it. The leader approached, and Bifur could barely see him through the crimson and grey haze.

“It’s time for us to move on. You’ve been fun, and it’s time for us to return you.”

Bifur’s brow furrowed at the words. They were going to let him go? Then one orc yanked his head back further, and he only had a split-second to see the small utility axe before it came down on his head, and buried itself within.

********

He couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t move, though awareness swam in his mind, drowning and resurfacing.

A shout of surprise… hands touching him… cries of his name from Bofur’s voice…

Bifur never told them the details of his time as an orc plaything. The scars on his body, the mental wounds, and the axe in his head was more than enough to tell that story.


End file.
